


all along

by Amymel86



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Ros and Shae smuggle Sansa from Kings Landing, Voyeurism, canon AU, jon's a pervert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 01:37:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21007574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amymel86/pseuds/Amymel86
Summary: Ros eyed Sansa contemplatively, her shrewd green eyes dancing up and down her form. “There might be something to be done,” she says.Shae turns sharply in her seat like an angry whip. “What do you mean, ‘something to be done’? I swore to protect my lady and I will not let any filthy man lay a finger on her – not one!”





	all along

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dena1984](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dena1984/gifts).

> this was originally meant to be a drabble to the prompt 'prostitute' but ended up too long - oh well!
> 
> Gifted to Dena for being lovely (and it was her birthday recently)
> 
> *EDIT* Something that I had meant to mention but forgot at the time of posting (until a commenter pointed it out) in this au Jon has never attempted to visit Ros in the past.

“No!” Shae snapped, a threat blazing hotly in her eyes. “_Absolutely not_, my lady!”

Sansa sighed, letting her perfectly straight spine relax against the carriage seating as they swayed along with every bump and dip of the dirt road. They were lucky to have been allowed to ride within such luxury, it was only afforded to them because Ros had offered her services to the driver. Still, he was to take them as far as the Crossroads Inn and would allow them no further.

For weeks since both Shae and Ros had smuggled her from the city, the three of them have tried to evade the Gold Cloaks – even going as far as using a dark dye on both Sansa and Ros’ red hair. Their aim is to somehow line their purses with enough gold to travel to Gulltown and board one of the ships there, crossing The Narrow Sea and getting as far away as they can from the teeth of the Lioness who haunts Sansa’s dreams.

Both older women have been using their particular trade to gain funds but it is not enough, not if they want to set sail soon – Sansa can practically feel the hungry lick of a lion’s tongue at the heels of her feet.

They needed more coin and they needed it quickly. She hadn’t truly meant to imply that she would join the women in their trade; what would she, a maiden, know of giving carnal pleasure to a man anyway? She blushes just to think of it. But she needs to help some way.

Ros eyed Sansa contemplatively, her shrewd green eyes dancing up and down her form. “There might be something to be done,” she says.

Shae turns sharply in her seat like an angry whip. “What do you mean, _‘something to be done’?_ I swore to protect _my lady_ and I will not let any filthy man lay a finger on her – not one!”

Ros smirked. “Men pay handsomely for something they think is out of their reach, and sometimes the scent of the forbidden fruit is all that they want for.”

***

The Inn at the Crossroads was busy with its long hall and benched seating. There were wooden kegs at one end and a blazing hearth at the other. Jon hunched over his ale, tearing into his bread with his teeth as he eyed the other patrons. There were people from all ‘round it seems. He overheard northern voices and witnessed highborns and commonfolk alike.

“_Hello, handsome_,” a woman with dark hair purred in his ear. Jon flinched away, which only served to make her chuckle. “Don’t be afraid now,” she said, grinning. “Do you want warming this evening?” she asks, voice low, leaning over the bench table before him, so very obviously displaying ‘her wares’.

Jon’s eyes flicker to her chest and then back up again. He has no plans in making use of a woman in that way. Taking up his ale, he lets slip a gruff, _“no,”_ before taking a gulp.

“Well, if not me, how about my friend over there?” she asks, stepping aside to afford him a view of the table she gestures to.

Jon lowers his tankard. There are two young women at the table but his gaze is drawn to one of them. She wears a plum-coloured hood over her dark hair and her beautiful blue eyes look wary. Her cheekbones are high and refined, and she has the most perfectly shaped set of lips he’s seen on any woman. Something about her stirs him, making his breeches feel a little tighter.

The whore who had approached him smirks and seats herself beside him, eyes alight and clever. “I hadn’t meant _her_,” she clarifies, seeing him stare hungrily at the girl wearing the hood. He looks away, ashamed. “_She,”_ the woman continues, “is a fine highborn maiden,” she strokes Jon’s arm with a single trailing finger as she talks. “She’s never known a man’s touch and we, as her travelling companions will see to it that it stays that way until her future lord husband gets the delight himself.”

Jon grunts and stuffs another piece of bread in his mouth. “Then she won’t want any dealin’s with a bastard like me,” he says, hoping the whore would leave him be.

“She doesn’t have to know.”

He turns his head towards her again, brows knit in confusion. “What?”

The woman smiles. “I can’t let you touch her, obviously, but...” she looks around, lowering her head and her voice, “... my lady will bathe tonight, and I have seen her hand slip every time she does,” her own hand travels across his thigh, brushing against his clothed cock, making him jolt. “You will get a good show,” she tells him. “She won’t know a thing.”

***

This was wrong. He knows it, and yet he allows his boots to follow up the narrow wooden staircase towards one of the rooms at the inn some time after the whore’s offer. She opens the door and steps aside, allowing him to enter. The room was small, yet still larger than his, with three cot beds, one small window and a hearth at one end. The fire blazes now, though it is sectioned off by a wooden modesty screen. The light and warmth calls to him and Jon takes a step forward, foot scuffing in the reeds on the floor. The woman’s hand shoots out to halt him before placing a single finger across her lips, urging him to keep to silence.

“Who’s there?” a voice calls from behind the screen and Jon hears a delicate slosh of water.

“Just me, my lady.”

The whore holds out her hand for payment, her brow arching in encouragement.

Jon licks at his lips. Thoughts of that beautiful girl from down in the drinking hall being bare and wet just the other side of that screen were whispering to him now. He truly is a depraved bastard it seems, since he finds himself quickly handing the woman some coin for his lusts.

“Pay double and I’ll help you while you watch,” the woman offers with a whisper, her hand brushing over his clothed cock again. Jon shakes his head. Somehow the notion of that seemed too filthy.

_Aye, and watching a woman as she bathes isn’t indecent enough?_

Jon ushered his thoughts away before he decides to bolt from the room. The whore guides him over to a wooden chair placed next to the screen.

“I’m leaving the door ajar,” she bends to whisper in his ear, “and I’ll be on the other side of it. _You don’t touch her_,” she warns, “or I’ll be in with a dagger for your throat.” Jon nods in understanding before the woman places a neatly folded square of linen on his knee. “For the mess,” she grins, smoothing it down with her palm.

***

Sansa doesn’t know if she has any natural skill at this. Ros had assured her that_ ‘watching a pretty highborn maiden frig herself in the bath’_ (as she put it) would draw many a man eager to give them coin. She’d said that ‘someone like her’ was akin to forbidden fruit, and to the commonman, her sweetness would be too enticing to bear.

She heard Ros’ steps retreat and knew that a man was sat just behind the screen. There was a small gap between the hinged panels and every now and again, the fire’s flicker revealed a hungry grey eye pressed to it.

Sansa’s cheeks were aflame and it had nought to do with her hot bathwater. She sunk low, dipping her hair and then sitting tall again, making sure to have her breasts in view for her paying voyeur. Thinking she may have heard him inhale sharply, Sansa felt a little bolder. Biting her lip, she gently trailed her fingers over the curves of her breasts, imagining that handsome fellow Ros had been talking to down in the hall. She hopes it is him behind that screen and not some old, fat man with sweat on his brow and yellowing teeth in his mouth.

Cupping herself, Sansa imagines her hands were not her own, but belonged to that dark-haired stranger from downstairs. He had looked strong and northern, it had stirred something within her, something that the image of him had only served stoke. Pinching her nipples, Sansa hissed, her head falling back and her chest arching upwards. There was a shuffling noise from behind the screen and Sansa found that the idea of that handsome northerner watching her as she performed such wanton acts was a heady one indeed.

She should not feel as pleased as she does at the strangled groan her voyeur lets slip when one of her hands travels down between her legs. Sansa releases a pleasant hum, one hand kneading at her breast, the other causing light rhythmic sloshing noises as she rubs at her sensitive pearl. If she concentrates, she can hear his breathing over the sound of her bathwater and the fire crackling in the hearth. It is laboured and jagged, every now and again pulling in sharply and held in his lungs. The knowledge that she could excite such a reaction without the man even needing to touch her inflamed her immoral desires even further.

Letting out a little gasp of pleasure, Sansa’s eyes flutter closed and a crease forms on her brow. Her fingers move faster and faster, seemingly in time with the shuffling and panted breaths of the man behind the screen. She imagines him stroking himself, doing it for her and her alone and suddenly the sensations are all too much. She lets out a little cry and her body pulses in pleasure. There’s a thumping in her ears but she can still hear the grunts and curse come from the stranger behind the screen.

“_My lady!”_ Ros bursts into the room, panic high in her voice. Sansa has barely come down from her bliss but Ros practically shoves the whole modesty screen aside, revealing her voyeur. Sansa doesn’t have time to deny to herself the truth that she’s pleased it had been that very same northerner from the hall. He even looks more handsome this close up, with a bearded jaw and hair secured in a tie. His eyes are wide at being exposed, and it’s then that Sansa remembers he’s meant to think she hadn’t known he was there all along.

And she’s still bare before him.

He’s wiping his hand with a cloth as he rises quickly, but Ros has blocked her view, rushing towards her to help her from the tub. “We have to go!” she urges. “We have to go _now_! A Lannister man, he recognised Shae as your ladies’ maid!”

Panic rises up her throat like bile as she’s standing, stepping into the robe that Ros offered.

“Sansa Stark, I know you’re up there!” a man’s voice called.

“Sansa?” her voyeur asks, taking a step towards her. Ros grabs the dagger from her belt and points it in his direction. His hands go up and he licks his lips. “Sansa, it’s me!”

She squints at him. This close he looks so much like father, but younger, and his lips are different; more full. In fact he looks the very picture of her half br-

_Oh!_

“_Jon?”_ she croaks, moving around Ros and running into his arms. He held her tightly as she tries desperately to will away the realisation of the shameless act she had just performed before his own eyes.

The door to their room opens suddenly with a crack, a single man in red and gold strides inside, roughly tugging Shae along with him, her upper arm in his tight grip. “Sansa Stark,” he commands, “you’re coming with me, by order of the Queen.”

Jon releases her and instantly assumes a defensive position. “No, she isn’t,” he rasps at the man, unsheathing the sword from his belt, the metal singing in the small room. “Get behind me,” he tells her and Sansa’s heart refuses to beat until there’s Lannister blood spilled on the floor and she’s fleeing the inn with Shae, Ros, and now Jon too, her pulse thrumming in her veins and her head trying to ignore the story of how she has reunited with her brother.


End file.
